Poem: January Rain

The rain pours,

Falling to Earth like the faucet of a minuscule waterfall,

Exploding on the gray lake of water.

All is almost calm and somber,

Where the birds sleep peacefully with their heads beneath their wings,

And the bushy squirrels don’t reveal themselves until more pleasant weather arrives.

Here bare branches,

Their gnarled from contrasting against the petrel sheets of clouds,

Drip into infinity.

Pines are covered in a shiny coating of fresh rain,

Their silvery outlines harsher than a burr.

The path is trodden through the grass and rose bushes,

Mud slick with wet,

Puddles in the footprints shiny with moisture.

The surprised moment where the storm lessens,

And the sun burns through

Is as unfamiliar as a Martian sunset,

Or a volcanic twilight.

The boardwalk is now soaked,

And the breeze brings the smell of salt from the sea.

An evergreen clutches small brown cones,

Its haunting atmospheric backdrop

Marred with a sodden vivid American flag.

The library is closed,

Dark and empty.

The signs on the murky windows

Say due to flooding.

Rivers many feet wide rush swollen around curbs,

Where the gushing into gutters is slow.

I aim a long leap

But fall short,

And the dirty water seeps through my sneakers and nibble my toes

Through my soaking soaks.

The wet layer lasts throughout the day and makes my skin itch.

I make my way through a vacant parking lot

Past the massive puddle that since tripled its size,

Making the black concrete beneath it invisible

Due to the surface’s reflection;

It is an island of the sky on a palette of grime.

Oil streams through the excess rain,

Making shimmering rainbows in the wallowing world of filth.

On cold days this previous week

The puddle froze into a

Mini ice rink.

Rain makes the church here forlorn

Where the silky white banner proclaiming it

Is tattered, ripped on one side,

Where it vertically hangs lonely-like,

Shaking in the wind.